


Good Company

by mycitruspocket



Series: Marbles - Lost and Found [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alchemy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Monster Hunting, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, Horses, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/pseuds/mycitruspocket
Summary: When Chireadan opens the door of their respectable townhouse with a shop front to Jaskier’s knock, it’s with a huge smile that goes shy on the edges once his eyes rest on Geralt. He tries to look relaxed, less intimidating, and hopes him holding on to Jaskier’s hand helps a bit.Jaskier is quick to hug Chireadan close with his unoccupied arm, stretching his connection to Geralt as he remains standing on the threshold while they partake in their welcome ritual of cheek kisses and endearment exchange. Jaskier lingers in the embrace, brings his lips close to his friend’s ear and whispers, perfectly audible for Geralt, “He said yes.”Or:Jaskier befriends Chireadan and his new boyfriend during winter, reunites with his witcher in spring, and they all end up having a really nice time together in Novigrad and even Roach finds a new friend.
Relationships: Chireadan & Jaskier | Dandelion, Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion, Chireadan/OMC, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Chireadan/OMC
Series: Marbles - Lost and Found [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793992
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> My muse hooptedoodle wanted more Jaskier/Chireadan, so how could I refuse? Thanks for everything, my dear!  
> To spice things up, and because I just want him to be happy, I gave our soft elf a cool boyfriend.

There’s an icy breeze coming from the edge of the forest they’re riding past and Jaskier turns his head to push his cold nose into Geralt’s neck. He’s riding in the saddle with Geralt behind him, so he has to turn his body a little awkwardly, but it’s worth the little shiver from Geralt as he shoves his nose a little deeper into his collar.

“We’re going to get you your own horse,” Geralt grunts fondly.

“My dearest witcher, is that supposed to be a threat or an offer?” Jaskier laughs. 

“You're cold. And distracting,” Geralt huffs.

“I'm distracting you from what, exactly? We're on the main road from Oxenfurt to Novigrad, on a sunny although admittedly cold early spring day, on the back of the fiercest horse on the continent. I myself have travelled this road several times this winter by carriage. What ever shall go wrong?”

“You and your endless optimism is going to get us killed one day,” Geralt says, tightening the arm he's slung around Jaskier's waist. “You're getting a horse once we go back on the Path. We'll be faster than taking turns like we used to, and I'm not having you trail along by foot anymore. Below me. Behind me. Never liked that.”

“Oh well, when you put it like that, that's actually romantic. Although I think you always appreciated the view when I walked ahead.” Jaskier enjoys the stream of hot air against his ear when Geralt huffs in amusement. “But Geralt, remember when we tried it a few years back? Roach didn't like the horsey company very much, so we had to sell it again.”

“I remember. That was unfortunate,” Geralt grumbles.

“We simply have to let her choose this time!” Jaskier bends forward to hug Roach's neck and although she tries pushing him away with a toss of her head, her snickering sounds like an affirmative. Jaskier pulls back and pats her neck. “Yes, we’ll find you a lovely friend. Anything for you, darling.”

Roach's excited whinny makes Geralt chuckle low in his throat and Jaskier grins, satisfied, and a little less cold.

*

They arrive in the late afternoon and make their way to Jaskier’s favourite inn in town — on the whole Continent if he’s honest. The Rockrose is a cosy place in a quiet, and most importantly clean part of this awfully huge city. He befriended the innkeepers a long time ago, trusts them, and knows the food is delicious, the wine selection well stocked and every room has a well-stocked washing alcove which he especially delights in. He had introduced Geralt to this place years ago and it never fails to make his heart jump with joy when his witcher is welcomed somewhere with open arms.

Literally, this time, because Renata is spreading her arms wide when they enter.

“Master Jaskier, how lovely to see you again so soon, and this time you finally brought your witcher friend around again. How delightful! Welcome, master witcher.”

“Renata, the pleasure is all ours,” Jaskier says, almost touching the floor as he sweeps his hat in a deep bow. When he straightens up again, he’s slapped in the side with a kitchen cloth.

“How often do I have to say it,” Renata chides, “save your fancy bows for somewhere else.”

“Ouch,” Jaskier winces, but can’t keep the smile from his face.”I’ll stop once you drop all that master nonsense.”

“Not that again,” comes a stern voice from behind the bar. “By all means, let him sweep our dusty floor with his ridiculous bonnet. Remember we had to air their room for days last time he brought his witcher here?”

“Ah, my dear Zofia, it’s good to see you too. I assure you we have no business in the sewers this time, unless of course there’s another drowner problem?” Jaskier tries to appease, although he knows she’s just teasing. “But let’s not get into that, we’re actually here for pleasure only, and not for any kind of witchering business.”

“Pleasure, you say?” Zofia smirks, looking at Geralt who has been standing quietly behind Jaskier this whole time, arms crossed before his chest. He’s stepping closer now, doing an incredible job of looming behind Jaskier without actually being taller than him.

“Yes. One room for two nights, please,” Geralt grumbles, as always uncomfortable with a bit of friendly small talk. “Horse is already in the stables.”

“Eager, your pretty boy,” Zofia smirks at Jaskier, then winks at Renata when she joins her behind the bar. 

“Stop teasing them,” Renata says and lays a hand on Zofia’s shoulder. “And what kind of room do you need?” She says, innocently enough, looking from Jaskier to Geralt and then back again, as if she’s not the meaner tease out of the two of them.

“The one I stayed in last time was quite lovely, actually. The one with the, ah, big bed,” Jaskier says confidently, and as if on cue, Geralt’s hand stretches out over his shoulder, palm up, waiting patiently for the key.

“You’re two lucky sweethearts, it’s still free,” Zofia says and puts the key in Geralt’s hand. The leather of his gloves crunches close to Jaskier’s ear when Geralt closes his fingers around it 

“Thanks,” Geralt says before he pulls Jaskier back towards the stairs and all he can do is tip his hat with a wink at the two laughing women.

“Can we expect you two down here for supper, or—” Renata calls after them just before they are out of earshot.

“Table for four, please,” Jaskier yells, stumbling up the stairs to catch up with Geralt.

“Alright, just don’t break the bed!”

*

“Your hat is ludicrous,” Geralt grumbles, lets their pack fall to the floor before he crowds Jaskier against the table in their room. 

“Hey, it’s freezing outside! It’s technically still winter and earlier you were the one complaining about me being cold,” Jaskier pouts, affronted, because he really likes that hat, but lets Geralt manhandle him nonetheless. 

“This thing isn’t keeping your head warm,” Geralt hisses, takes the apparently offending hat off him and sets it down on the table. He does so carefully, Jaskier notices, as he treats all of Jaskier’s belongings no matter how dismissively he sometimes talks about things he doesn’t deem practical. With his other hand, Geralt reaches out to untie Jaskier’s cloak.

“It matches my cloak, okay? It’s also the height of fashion this winter, I might add, which has to count for something,” Jaskier mumbles, out of habit to defend his bardic honour. 

Undressing Geralt is a much more pressing matter, though. He’s mirroring Geralt’s actions, disposing of his cloak in return and going about to undo his jacket underneath. He takes a moment to be chuffed about having talked Geralt out of wearing his armour for this little trip, because it always takes ages to get it off of him. It’s supposed to be a trip purely for pleasure after all.

“Hmm, matches your eyes, too,” Geralt agrees, now fumbling with Jaskier’s doublet. “Still ludicrous. Feather was in my face most of the ride,” he grumbles, and pushes the garments from his shoulders. Jaskier looks down where their clothes are piling up around their feet. Geralt’s gloves are next and then his fingers are already working on Jaskier’s shirt lacing.

“I’m not cold anymore, in case that’s what you want to check,” Jaskier swallows as Geralt’s nose brushes along his throat towards his mouth.

“You trying to give me a reason to stop?” Geralt asks, giving absolutely no sign that he’s about to do so, as he reaches for the front of Jaskier’s breeches.

“Never,” Jaskier breathes against his lips, as Geralt’s hips press him against the table.

Geralt doesn’t lean in for a kiss, instead he kneels down to help Jaskier out of his boots and then his legwear. When he stands back up, he trails his hands up Jaskier’s legs, then scoops him up onto the table.

“Hm,” Jaskier hums as he loops his arms and legs around Geralt to draw him close, “you _are_ eager, aren’t you, pretty boy? I am already sitting with my bare bottom on a table, whereas you, my dearest witcher, are still mostly clothed. Let me catch up, will you?”

But Geralt doesn’t, he suddenly holds him very close and stills, face pressed against Jaskier's neck, breathing deeply.

“I missed you,” Geralt says simply, and Jaskier’s heart aches because it’s not the first time he has heard it since their reunion.

“I know, my love, you keep saying. You've said it so often in the past days that I'm beginning to worry now.”

“Don't. Thought it would be easier, parting ways for winter now that I have you like this. It was worse. Things to miss I didn't know before.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier runs his hands up and down his back soothingly. 

Geralt had shown up in Oxenfurt unexpectedly early, which is, of course, nothing Jaskier would ever complain about, but he still has to work at the academy, with some lectures and exams left before the end of winter term. And he’d also made this appointment in Novigrad, thinking it would be weeks still before Geralt showed up. 

Apparently there had been one warm day to melt the ice in the mountains around Kaer Morhen, which Geralt used to make his way downhill before it would all freeze up again. Then he’d headed for Oxenfurt at what must have been breakneck speed. Jaskier doesn’t want to think about Geralt making unsafe decisions just because he missed him. 

Gods, he’d missed him as well, so he can relate and probably would’ve done something similarly stupid. He also assumes, that despite how much his own heart had yearned for Geralt, that it must have been easier for him with his work and a whole city to distract him.

“I understand. I wasn’t prepared for it to hurt this much either and thought my heart was well trained after so many years of longing,” Jaskier whispers. 

Jaskier reaches for Geralt’s face and touches their lips gently in a not-quite kiss. Geralt’s lips part for him, his eyes fall shut and he waits, head slightly bowed. He looks so beautiful Jaskier could cry with the joy of it. Sticking his tongue out slowly, he wets Geralt’s lower lip and is rewarded with a soft sound that makes his cock twitch to full hardness. 

“You missed kissing me?” Jaskier breathes against his lips. Geralt shivers and hums and waits, so Jaskier licks carefully into his mouth, but withdraws again. “Hm, me too. Even though we’ve kissed plenty of times since our reunion, it still feels like we haven’t made up for the lost time, right?”

Geralt hums again, eyes still closed and Jaskier finally brings their lips together properly and they lose themselves in the kiss. Jaskier manages to somehow get Geralt’s shirt off without them having to pause the kiss for long. His own shirt and Geralt’s trousers seem too much work though, so he just shoves the latter down on Geralt’s thighs. When he’s crossing his ankles at the small of Geralt’s back, their erections brush together, only divided by Jaskier’s loose shirt, which Geralt shoves up with a desperate grunt.

“What else did you miss, tell me,” Jaskier asks, holding him close.

Geralt sighs, leans their foreheads together and says very quietly, “The warmth of your voice, and in your eyes. But that wasn’t new. Missed how you sometimes take my hand, for no reason at all, or breathe against me at night.”

Jaskier pulls Geralt’s hand out from under his shirt and kisses his knuckles. “I missed holding you at night. Couldn’t sleep, some nights, thinking of you. Never feels safe when you’re not with me.” Jaskier starts kissing each of his fingertips.

“Eskel said he could hear me scream your name at night, and not in a good way. I often woke, could never remember a dream, but wished I knew you were safe.” Jaskier’s heart aches hearing Geralt’s voice break a little.

“We’re together again, now. Safe. Do you wish to talk about this another time?” Jaskier soothes, not yet knowing what else there is to talk about. There are only two obvious ways they could spend winter together, and they had both agreed on maintaining their seasonal routine, even though separation hadn’t been easy. With Jaskier’s teaching obligation calling him to Oxenfurt, and Geralt unable to reunite with the other wolves other than during wintertime, it had seemed the best not to change anything — even though things between them had changed during the past year — and reunite once Geralt could safely descend the mountain path.

“Yes,” Geralt agrees absent-mindedly, and slips a finger into Jaskier’s mouth, which is a pretty good distraction. He sucks on it, moans around it, and when Geralt kisses down his throat and down to his collarbone, Jaskier finally pulls off his shirt, leans back on his arms and says, “Touch me, Geralt.”

Jaskier throws his head back and answers each of the kisses Geralt peppers on his chest with praise, each touch of tongue or teeth on his nipples with a deep moan. 

He tightens his ankles around Geralt’s back, pressing their groins flush together and reaches with one hand to hold both their erections. 

Geralt gasps into his shoulder, presses his forehead into his neck when Jaskier starts to gently rub the tips of their cocks together. He lets them slip in and out of his fist slowly, drags his thumbs over them carefully, mixing their precome, and listens to Geralt’s hitching breath.

Geralt’s hands are roaming his chest, sides and back, and Jaskier craves his touch, wants his hands everywhere at once. He gives them both a few slow strokes before he lets go to reach for Geralt’s wrist and guides it down. 

“Touch us, I need to feel you here,” Jaskier says, his voice shaky. He brushes a kiss to Geralt’s temple before leaning back on his palms again, putting his torso on display for Geralt once more. He groans as Geralt wraps his large hand around their cocks, stroking them tighter, but not faster. 

“Ah, perfect. Like this, nice and slow,” Jaskier moans.

Geralt presses a steadying palm between his shoulder blades and puts his mouth back on Jaskier’s chest, nose brushing through the curls of hair below his collarbone, lips searching for his hard nipples.

Between licks, and kisses, and slow but steady strokes, Jaskier feels the heat in his belly build, the waves of pleasure cease to subside and reach a new peak with each of Geralt’s soft grunts.

“Slower, slower, but don’t stop. Oh _yes_ , Geralt,” Jaskier pants, head thrown back again, back arched, pushing further against the strong hand that keeps him in place. Geralt does exactly what Jaskier told him, yet Jaskier can feel his body shake with the effort of holding back to give them a few more minutes of shared ecstasy. 

“Now kiss me,” Jaskier breathes in between moans, raises his head and pushes his fingers into Geralt’s hair, “kiss me and make us come.”

There is a moment where their eyes meet before Geralt’s lids close, and Jaskier admires the graceful curve of them as they do so, but after that, his mind is absolutely consumed by pleasure. Geralt’s tongue circles around his own in a deep kiss, his fist moves just fast enough for Jaskier to slide slowly into a release that makes him shake apart in Geralt’s grip in long, drawn-out waves. A growling moan from Geralt, and his spent makes everything even more slippery, makes Jaskier’s now oversensitive cock endure a few more strokes as he shivers under Geralt’s hands.

Geralt loosens his grip and lets their cocks soften against each other in his palm, and pulls Jaskier’s head against his shoulder as they catch their breaths.

“Table’s a mess,” Geralt’s grunts after a while, wiping his hand on his thigh.

“Well, at least we didn’t break the bed,” Jaskier chuckles into Geralt’s sweaty shoulder.

“Yet,” Geralt deadpans and Jaskier laughs out the breath he was supposed to catch.

*

Jaskier is slumped on Geralt’s shoulder, all his limbs curled around him like he doesn’t intend to move away anytime soon. Geralt kisses the top of his head and as much as he’d like to linger a while longer, he reminds Jaskier of the appointment with his friends. They clean themselves thoroughly, thankfully the basin with fresh water is big enough to have a proper wash, and Geralt watches as Jaskier lathers up the scented soap and hums in contentment. Geralt redresses in the clothes he wore before, he hasn’t packed anything else, but Jaskier produces a new outfit from his pack. 

“That’s what you call travelling light?” Geralt chuckles, because of course Jaskier would successfully talk him out of wearing his armour only to pack several outfits for himself.

“It’s an evening of celebration, Geralt, and I will dress accordingly. Chireadan, Elaedres and I worked extremely hard, these last few months to set up their apothecary here, and now that it’s flourishing, we deserve a night of good drink and food and fine company.”

“Then what do you need me for?” Geralt teases, mostly just to see Jaskier’s affronted face.

“Oh shut it,” Jaskier retorts and smacks his biceps, just to then let his hand linger in appreciation for a moment. “I sent word to them that I’ll bring you since you arrived earlier than expected, they know you’re here and will be delighted that you join us tonight, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Trust Jaskier to understand his unspoken thoughts better than himself.

“It’s fine,” Geralt huffs, and it really is. Socialising with anyone apart from Jaskier after spending months in seclusion is always even harder than it usually already is for him, but he’s doing this for Jaskier so it _is_ fine. Doesn’t matter if it’s going to be awkward for him, it’s not about him.

Jaskier watches him as he puts on his doublet — turquoise and yellow, which would hurt Geralt's eyes if anyone else were wearing it — watches him still as his fingers dance up the front and over the buttons. Naturally, he leaves the first three open, displaying the tufts of chest hair escaping his purposefully poorly laced up shirt underneath. 

“You aren’t still jealous of Chireadan, are you? Is that why you’re uncomfortable, because you know I had sex with him?” Jaskier asks, absolutely matter-of-factly and still watching him pensively. Geralt swallows, he’s no good talking about this.

“Wouldn’t I have to be jealous of half the continent then?” Geralt tries to play it down. He doesn’t want to know which friends of his Jaskier has slept with, but he assumes they are plenty.

“Oh don’t you try to distract me with flattery, love. Watch him for one minute together with his Elaedres, the two of them are just as gone for each other as we are. Also, you don’t have to sit with us all evening, Geralt. Just eat and have some ale. Then, if you aren’t having a good time, we can retire early, alright?”

“Jaskier, I’ll be fine,” Geralt says and means it. “You enjoy an evening with your friends, I’ll manage.”

Jaskier smiles a grateful little smile. Geralt will sit through many awkward social events with Jaskier if it means it makes him happy. 

“Elaedres is an excellent herbalist, I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about,” Jaskier suggests, voice hopeful.

“Hm,” Geralt nods and places a kiss on Jaskier’s temple as he walks past him to open the door for him.

Jaskier walks past him with a swing in his step and Geralt watches him basically dancing down the stairs.

They find Chireadan already sitting at a table in the corner of the room, pressed close against another elf with rich brown skin, who has his black hair plaited into one thick braid which is draped over his shoulder. Jaskier greets his friends with enthusiastic hugs and kisses on their cheeks and introduces Geralt as the witcher of his heart.

All in all, it’s not as awkward as Geralt thought it would be. While they eat, Geralt focuses mostly on his food, and after that, on his ale. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough to engage in their conversation though, and so after an hour of nodding along and hums of agreement, Geralt’s second tankard of ale is empty. The shared bottle of wine on the table is also nearing its end and so he seizes the opportunity and stands.

“You all want more of this one?” he asks, pointing at the wine bottle. 

“Ah no, Est Est for me please, dearest. Thank you,” Jaskier beams at him, places a warm palm on his arm. “I am sure going to miss the sweet drops of good wine down my throat once we leave civilization behind, but I found I can appreciate it even more after a long absence.”

Geralt feels his lips twitch into a smile he’s not even trying to suppress as he turns a questioning look at the elves. Chireadan seems not able to hold a lot of liquor and only gives him a bit of a dopey grin. 

Elaedres chuckles low in his throat and pulls Chireadan close, steadying him as he sways on the bench. “He won’t even notice which wine he’s drinking anymore, so anything’s fine really. I’m good with what I’ve got left, thanks.”

“Hm,” confirms Geralt and walks over to the bar, making a mental note to hide a bottle of Est Est deep in the saddlebags for Jaskier as a surprise after some rough days in the wilderness.

Approaching the bar, he can see Renata standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, deep in conversation with Zofia in the other room, so he leans against the bar and waits for her return. 

His ears are still tuned to the conversation at their table, so he doesn’t hear what Renata is talking about, but he does hear Jaskier very clearly. He's telling his friends about an adventure they had at a vineyard in Toussaint last year, of course exaggerating enormously when it comes down to the number of wraiths that were haunting a nearby ruin. He finishes the story off with the information that he can’t even recall if they made good use of the very comfortable bed in the nice room they were provided with, because of the copious supply of wine of excellent quality they had access to.

Geralt casts a look over his shoulder to see Jaskier’s expression of mock-thoughtfulness, thumb pressed against his chin as if he really is trying hard to recall what they did in bed that night, and would talk about if he could only remember. Geralt knows for a fact that they hadn’t been _that_ drunk. They had both been just the right kind of tipsy to have a really good fuck and could very well remember it the next day, because in the morning, Jaskier had whispered all of the night's filthy happenings into his ear whilst fucking him extraordinarily slowly.

“Hm,” Jaskier goes on, “we should ask Geralt when he comes back, maybe he can remember. Witcher’s stamina and high tolerance and all that.”

Chireadan leans closer to Jaskier in the corner seat, touching his forehead to his upper arm and laughs. Geralt’s ears feel very hot suddenly and he looks away, but keeps listening nonetheless, hears Elaedres’ low chuckle and Chireadan’s drunken hiccups. 

“Oh, that reminds me, dear friend, there’s something we wanted to ask you,” Chireadan says a moment later, sounding serious even though he’s slurring slightly. 

Suddenly, this conversation he’s not a part of at the moment feels too intrusive to eavesdrop on. Normally in situations like this, Geralt tunes out Jaskier’s private conversations whenever he’s not within normal human hearing distance. He’d have gone crazy in the past, listening to Jaskier flirt and fuck his way through the day, so he’s trained himself well to shift the focus of his hearing away. Just in time he readjusts to Renata’s voice, but the last thing he hears from across the room is Chireadan’s voice dropping low, “We were wondering if you’re interested—”

Geralt swallows hard and is glad to hear Renata discuss the next day’s meals with Zofia. He takes a deep breath and tries not to think about what Chireadean was reminded of and wonders if Jaskier is interested in it. For now, he hopes it’s still on the topic of wine.

Meanwhile, Renata has noticed him at the bar and raises a hand to show him she’ll be there shortly and he nods. Geralt doesn’t know why he risks another look over his shoulder, but he finds himself turning his head and he can see Jaskier smiling fondly with his arm around Chireadan’s shoulder. The elf smiles shyly and Elaedres’ expression is strangely confident.

“Now what can I get you,” Renata says, her voice suddenly too loud in Geralt’s ears, startling him.

“Ale, and a bottle of Est Est,” he grumbles, trying to suppress his irritation.

“Well of course, the boys worked like mad these past months, it’s about time they celebrate,” she says.

“Hm,” says Geralt, not knowing how else to respond, especially because he’d never call grown elves _boys_. Unfortunately Renata, like the chatty and friendly innkeeper she is, takes his hum as an invitation to tell him more, whilst expertly drawing Geralt’s ale from a barrel.

“Jaskier brought them here, you know, because they couldn’t find a place to set up their shop. Hard for elves, even in a free city. So he helped them find a decent house, and ways to get normal priced supplies and all that. Wrote a song about Chireadan, even. Huge hit in town, still, I can tell you, and such good advertising for them. As are the leaflets he made and got printed for them, of course. Got a whole stack here, the one promoting the stuff helping with hangovers, to slip into the drunk’s pockets when they sway out at night,” she tells him as she pushes a full tankard of ale over the counter towards him. 

“Ah, but who am I, telling you all this,” she goes on. “I’m sure you know all about that already, and probably also how he did the same for my Zofia and me ages ago when we came here with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Now let me get that bottle,” Renata says, and Geralt is relieved when she turns to rummage around in a cupboard because he needs a moment to collect himself. 

It’s a lot of information to take in at once, and no, he did not know any of this. Which is, of course, his fault since he hasn’t gotten much better at simply asking Jaskier about things. Jaskier had told him about this meeting, and Geralt had listened, trusting that Jaskier would simply tell him everything he needed to know. And of course this amount of detail was not a necessity to know, but it does put the importance of this meeting and their friendship in a different light.

“There it is,” Renata exclaims and produces a bottle, uncorks it before handing it to him. “I’m sure Jaskier is not that drunk yet, he’ll appreciate this particular vintage.”

“Thanks,” Geralt mutters and takes the bottle and his tankard. Renata nods at him and smiles warmly, then turns towards another patron. He knows, of course, of his bard’s kind soul as well as his wealthy accounts and well-stocked stashes cleverly scattered all over the Continent, but he did not know that he uses it all to help people in such a dedicated way.

It’s like a single piece of an unsolvable puzzle falls into place, having discovered something that Jaskier does, apparently, when he’s not out there with Geralt in the wilderness. He sets up his friends with a chance of a better life. 

Jaskier, Geralt realises, has such a vast capacity of love, that he couldn’t possibly direct it all at one person alone, never has done that, because it would be more than anyone could take. He’s overflowing with it and would burst with it, can't contain it, and even though Geralt is constantly soaking it up, there’s still so much left of this precious gift that is Jaskier’s love. In the beginning, Geralt couldn’t even take tiny shards of what Jaskier offered so generously, but he has learnt to accept more and more over the years. 

Jaskier thrives on making people happy, and Geralt loves him for it. He’s had his hand in the happiness of five people in this very room and Geralt is acting like a cantankerous mule. He can do better, he can show Jaskier that he’s one of them.

So when he finally walks back to their table, it’s with relief in his heart and a smile on his lips.

Geralt politely tops up the empty goblets, sits down and slings a loose arm around Jaskier’s waist, then asks Elaedres about the cultivation of winter cherries. He notices Jaskier’s delighted little sigh and places a kiss on his cheek before he turns his attention back to the herbalist.

It’s nice, Geralt can admit that, how Jaskier leans into him while having an animated conversation with Chireadan. Jaskier does seem to bestow a lot of casual touches to Chireadan while they talk, which Elaedres doesn’t seem to mind, although Geralt does notice that his left hand only seldomly leaves his partner’s thigh. So Geralt keeps quiet about it too, steals the occasional kiss, and gets some in return. Geralt can scent a particular level of lust around them all, but then, the elves’ relationship must be even newer than their own, so he guesses it’s just a normal state for them all to be in.

By the end of the evening, Geralt knows everything about winter cherries and he and Elaedres have written down a diagram for a special kind of voice potion, in case Jaskier suffers from respiratory issues while they are on the road. It’s something Geralt has actually tried to brew several times, but either it didn’t seem to have a good enough effect, or Jaskier could hardly swallow it because he said it tasted absolutely dreadful. 

With all other patrons gone, Renata and Zofia join them at their table for one last round before they retire to their quarters and leave them alone in the barroom.

“Alright, my dear fellows,” Jaskier announces a while later and stands, sways just a bit before Geralt curls a steadying hand around his hip, “we should call it a night. Renata and Zofia have already left us here to our devices, and it would be wise to retire while we can all walk to our beds safely. Also, Geralt, we have yet to prove that we can have sex in this lovely big bed without breaking it, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to after another round.”

It’s by far not the first time Geralt is amazed by how much wine Jaskier can drink and still talk so coherently. He’s not as good with walking in this state, though. 

“You’d break your neck twice before you even reach the stairs,” Geralt laughs. 

“Oh-ho-ho-ho, but I never said we each have to reach the bed alone without assistance,” Jaskier says triumphantly. “You’ll be a gentle-witcher and carry me upstairs, just like you always do.”

Chireadan bursts into giggles and lets Elaedres help him stand up. “My gentle-elf, you will see me home safely as well, won’t you?” Chireadan says, looking at Elaedres from under his lashes.

“As always,” Elaedres says fondly, and tugs Chireadan securely against his side. His voice is steady, he hasn’t drunk all that much, but Geralt thinks even if he had, he wouldn’t be as affected, since he’s fairly sure the elf is far older than Geralt himself.

“Now come here, Chireadan,” Jaskier says and hugs him right where he is in his partner’s arms and presses a firm kiss to his cheek. He does it quite in the same manner as he did as a welcome greeting, only now he’s lingering and then he stumbles into them, losing his balance. Elaedres is quick to catch him with an arm around his middle, but Jaskier is also instinctively reaching out for Geralt, which is why all four of them find themselves in an awkward embrace.

For a moment, none of them moves. Geralt is sure it’s not just because the three others are afraid to tumble to the ground in a heap, but because they are actually enjoying this. The tips of Chireadan’s ears have been pink all evening, but they seem to blush an even darker colour now, and Jaskier’s heartbeat, which Geralt can make out among thousands, does a few little flips. Geralt, for his part, could just let go, but for some reason he doesn’t.

“Okay, this is nice,” Jaskier mumbles where his mouth is pressed against Chireadan’s neck, his hand tightening where he has a grip on Geralt’s arm.

“Told you,” mumbles Chireadan into Jaskier’s hair.

It’s Elaedres who sorts them all out, helping Jaskier and Chireadan to disentangle themselves. Jaskier’s arm is still holding onto Geralt, so he steadies him with a hand to his shoulder for additional support, just in case he falls forward again.

“We agreed to meet tomorrow at the shop, yes?” Elaedres says, mostly to Geralt since the other two haven’t recovered from their fit of giggles. “So we can have a first try on the potion?”

“Yes,” Geralt rasps, then clears his throat. “Yes, of course.”

“And maybe,” Elaedres says softly and smiles, but then trails off. “Well, we’ll see each other tomorrow. Good luck with the bed.”

“Yeah, not sure any proving is going to happen tonight, but thanks,” Geralt chuckles and Elaedres snorts in response as they both lead their pleasantly drunk partners towards their respective beds.

Geralt was right, of course. After he picks Jaskier up at the bottom of the stairs, because he knows from experience it’s much, much easier than trying to help him up, he deposits him right onto the bed where Jaskier only sighs, stretches and almost falls asleep on the spot.

“Hey there,” Geralt laughs, and sits down beside him on the bed, “get out of that doublet or I won’t hear the end of it tomorrow, because I let you ruin it.”

“Mpf,” Jaskier mumbles half into the pillow, “seems like a lot of effort just now.”

“Let me help,” says Geralt gently. Jaskier groans theatrically and sits up slightly, just enough so Geralt can push the already unbuttoned doublet off his shoulders. Jaskier manages his trousers by himself, although not without some colourful swearing, while Geralt quickly strips down.

Settling down on the bed beside Jaskier, Geralt hands him a small vial. “Here, Elaedres’ mysterious hangover potion. Said he’s quite sure you already used the supply he gave you last time.”

“Um, yeah, might’ve,” Jaskier mumbles sheepishly and drinks up, then settles against Geralt’s side, with his head on his chest as Geralt pulls him close. “Works like magic.”

“You had a pleasant evening?” Geralt asks. He knows the answer, could smell happiness and contentment around Jaskier the whole time, but he wants to practice asking questions. He also just wants to feel the vibration of Jaskier’s voice seep into his skin.

“I had an absolutely splendid evening, and you know why?”

“Tell me.”

“Because you actually enjoyed yourself too, for once. That made me happiest.” Geralt drops a kiss on top of Jaskier’s head, and hums in contentment. "Oh, and then, of course, Chireadan updated me on the latest Novigradian gossip. Geralt, you won’t believe it when I tell you, that—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts him, combing his fingers gently through his hair, “wouldn’t you rather tell me about your own adventures in Novigrad?”

“Well,” Geralt can hear the surprise in Jaskier's voice before he starts his tale in a low and calm voice. He talks quietly, with seemingly only very little exaggeration and without unnecessary dramatics, about coming back to Oxenfurt with several letters from Chireadan waiting for him, not asking for help, but Jaskier knew they would need it. All the while he draws patterns on Geralt’s stomach and speaks until he simply drops off to sleep mid-sentence.

Some people call Jaskier a braggart, and they are not wrong. They know Jaskier the bard, boasting about his own _and_ Geralt’s professional achievements and many talents. Or they know Jaskier the lover, who kisses _and_ tells. But they don’t know Jaskier the person, who never told Geralt what he actually does with the shitload of coin he’s making, _because_ of his professional achievements and many talents. 

When it comes to boasting, there seems to be a delicate line somewhere in Jaskier’s head he doesn’t like to cross, as soon as it gets too personal. But Geralt knows now, because Jaskier reminds him ever so often, all he has to do is ask, and Jaskier will tell him.

*

Jaskier wakes to sunbeams filtering through the yellow coloured curtains, tinting the room in a warm light. He only wakes before Geralt when they sleep indoors, in an environment Geralt feels safe enough in that he can truly relax in his sleep. He usually wakes shortly after Jaskier though, because he finds it so incredibly difficult to stay still in the mornings, especially since he is now privileged to wake beside Geralt like this, pressed together in whichever way and very naked.

Jaskier shifts a little, making himself more comfortable with his chin propped up on Geralt’s chest to watch him until he opens his eyes. His half-hard cock is nestled in the crook of Geralt’s hip, and while he thinks about how to best broach this very specific topic that Chireadan brought up last night, it fills further.

His friend had been blissfully tipsy, cute and rosy-eared as he asked Jaskier if he and Geralt would be interested to partake in a shared sexual experience with him and Elaedres. Oh, Chireadan had been so sweet. Had told him how often he thinks about their night together in Rinde, how lovely it would be to have a little more time to be intimate together, and that he and Elaedres would be open for anything Jaskier and Geralt might want. Their only condition would be that they would like to keep within touching distance of each other.

Jaskier had sat there, gaping at first, then grinning and nodding and hugging Chireadan close. They had quickly agreed that Jaskier should talk with Geralt in private, and then meet up again the following day. Jaskier himself was, naturally, with his history of casual sex arrangements with most of his friends, hooked on the idea immediately. However, he still, even in this refreshing morning light, finds it impossible to estimate Geralt’s reaction.

They hadn’t talked about involving other people yet, and Jaskier is not at all an expert in long term relationships, but this seems to be a topic for a relationship more developed. Also, they’d been so immersed in each other last year, and still have so much to discover together, that Jaskier never even entertained the possibility until now. But well, he definitely doesn’t want to pass on an opportunity like this, especially not because there are not many people he trusts enough to take to bed with them. And so he waits, his head rising and falling ever so slowly with Geralt’s even breaths, until there’s a deep rumbling sound coming from Geralt’s chest.

“Are you watching me?” he murmurs, his eyes still closed.

“I am, yes,” Jaskier chirps. “And let me tell you, I’m enjoying the view immensely.”

“You woke me, your dirty thoughts were too loud,” Geralt rasps, voice rough from sleep, but amused.

Now if that wasn’t a conversation-opener. “If you promise to keep your eyes closed, I’m going to tell you exactly what I was thinking about,” Jaskier says, voice low and with his hand travelling up and down Geralt’s torso.

Geralt just hums, but the corners of his lips curl up and his eyes stay closed.

“Imagine, Geralt. Me, on my hands and knees in all my naked glory, with you behind me, holding me, preparing me. But, we’re not alone.” Jaskier waits a few quick heartbeats for a reaction that might be negative, but Geralt’s expression hasn’t changed. “I have someone else’s cock in my mouth, and I’m trying to do an excellent job of sucking it, although you keep distracting me in the most delicious ways.”

Geralt grunts, a deep, wanton sound and wraps his arms tight around Jaskier. “Go on,” he rasps.

“Imagine, Geralt. You’re watching me with someone, just watching, and I’m telling you how to touch yourself. Would you like that?”

“Hm,” Geralt hums, rolls his hips, giving their erections, trapped between their bodies as they are, a little bit of the much-needed friction. Jaskier feels encouraged to go on.

“What about fucking me while I fuck someone else?” Jaskier moans, knowing he should stop now, if he wants to be able to do any of the things he just said later this day.

“Never done any of that before,” Geralt groans, takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

“Now, tell me, would you like to try?” Jaskier asks, voice breathy as he moves into kissing distance.

Geralt pulls him into a hungry kiss, which would be answer enough, but then he draws away, and says, ”With you, anything.”

“Right, ok, look,” says Jaskier, exhaling heavily while sitting up to kneel astride Geralt’s abdomen. “If you are interested, we have a standing invitation for today, for which I’d like to keep my full energy. If not, then I’m just going to ravish you right now because the thought alone—”

There’s a finger on his lips so Jaskier stops talking. Geralt is looking at him with dark, wide eyes, caressing his lips with his finger.

“I am interested,” Geralt says, voice rough with desire, and pushes the finger into Jaskier's mouth. 

Jaskier holds his gaze, sucks on it once, then takes Geralt's hand to pull it out. He kisses the fingertip before lowering their hands, entwining them on his thigh.

“Then we need to talk first, I'm afraid. And no more distracting me like this, please.”

Geralt nods, clearly waiting for Jaskier to do the talking.

“Yeah, of course it would go like this,” Jaskier chuckles, rolling his eyes affectionately. “So let's make it quick and easy. You heard anything of our conversation yesterday, when you went to the bar?”

“No, seemed intimate so I tuned out,” Geralt says. Of course he did.

“Thank you,” says Jaskier, squeezing his hand. “In this case, it concerned us both. They invited us to bed, but thought it would be wiser for me to approach this topic with you in private. You seem rather keen, if I’m not mistaken,” he accentuates his guess with a roll of his hips against Geralt’s erection and is rewarded with an eager moan. “I see, but we still need to set some ground rules.”

“Two rules,” Geralt groans low in his throat, hands clutching on Jaskier’s thighs.

“Tell me,” whispers Jaskier and brings Geralt's hand back to his mouth to brush a kiss on his knuckles.

“Don't want to touch anyone but you. Don't want anyone but you touching me,” Geralt says, very matter of factly, apart from being a bit breathless, and like he knows exactly what he wants. Like he’s thought about this. “At least this first time,” he adds, which sparks a firework of anticipation in Jaskier’s stomach.

“Easily done, darling, I’ll take care of that. I have one rule. I don't want to kiss anyone on the mouth but you.” Geralt's hand moves, his fingertips tracing Jaskier's bottom lip as his eyes follow the movement. “My kisses are yours alone.”

“Did you kiss him in Rinde?” Geralt asks quietly, not taking his eyes nor his fingers from Jaskier’s lip.

“I did not. Even though I have to say I _was_ tempted after watching you sticking your tongue down Yennefer’s throat.” Geralt winces but Jaskier doesn’t dwell on it and goes on. “But long before that, after I realised who my heart belongs to, I only allowed myself to kiss a very select bunch of people. However, my dear heart, that shall be a story for another day. Feel welcome to ask me about it, and I shall elaborate,” Jaskier dares him, because Geralt still needs a nudge in this direction sometimes, although he’s already getting much better. 

“I will,” he murmurs, leans up and replaces his fingers with his own lips to kiss Jaskier softly.

“One last thing,” Jaskier says, resting their foreheads together. He can’t believe it went so smoothly, he has to be sure. “Tell me you’re not jealous of Chireadan. I know you were, in Rinde.”

Geralt sighs and closes his eyes. “Had no right to be jealous then, forgive me. Knowing we would meet him again, I thought you must have missed having sex in the time we were apart, and that you might have longed for his touch, because he was present where I was not. Me, unavailable, like I was in Rinde, like I was for so many years.”

“My dearest witcher, you are a clod. For I missed _you_ , not just your cock,” Jaskier composes for him on the spot and presses more kisses to his lips.

“Your worst rhyme yet,” Geralt laughs, and Jaskier delights in having made him happy with such a silly little thing. But then Geralt looks at him, eyes serious and lips curved up to an honest smile and Jaskier swallows down the words of adoration he was about to shower him with as he realises that Geralt has more to say. Jaskier bumps their noses as a little encouragement. 

“I understood that yesterday, in a way. I’m not jealous. Promised you to always come back to you, last year, and know you’ll always come back to me as well.”

“Always, Geralt. Always you. It didn’t feel like you were unavailable to me this winter. Tragically, you were physically absent, yes, but you were in my thoughts, and in my dreams, more deeply than ever. You fueled my pleasure in ways I never dared to give in to before, too ridden with guilt that it might disgust you if you knew.” Jaskier places Geralt's hand over the marble pendant on his chest. It has kept his heart warm all winter. “I never took it off, not once, and I never will.”

Jaskier makes sure to kiss him deep and thoroughly after this, because it doesn’t look like Geralt is able to form any more words right now.

*

When Chireadan opens the door of their respectable townhouse with a shop front to Jaskier’s knock, it’s with a huge smile that goes shy on the edges once his eyes rest on Geralt. He tries to look relaxed, less intimidating, and hopes him holding on to Jaskier’s hand helps a bit. 

Jaskier is quick to hug Chireadan close with his unoccupied arm, stretching his connection to Geralt as he remains standing on the threshold while they partake in their welcome ritual of cheek kisses and endearment exchange. Jaskier lingers in the embrace, brings his lips close to his friend’s ear and whispers, perfectly audible for Geralt, “He said yes.”

Chireadan lifts his head and looks at Geralt over Jaskier’s shoulder, his bright eyes widen as he holds his gaze. Geralt can hear the elf's heartbeat quicken and doesn't look away. They look lovely together, he decides.

“Chireadan,” he nods in greeting, his voice deep, but level, as he tries to suppress the flutter of anticipation in his stomach for now. 

“Welcome my friends,” says Chireadan with a smile, pulling out of Jaskier’s embrace, but keeps in contact with a hand on his arm. “Geralt, you’ll find Elaedres in the laboratory downstairs,” he gestures behind him towards a staircase leading into the basement in the corner of the shop. “We already did some preparations and I’m confident it’ll turn out the way you want.” 

“Oh, and will it be delicious too?” Jaskier asks eagerly. “Because what Geralt brewed me before was wretched stuff.”

Geralt winces, he isn’t used to brewing potions that taste good, or at least not awful.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Jaskier says, squeezing his hand apologetically. “I know you meant well and I'm grateful you thought of such a lovely gift.”

“You’ll like it, Jaskier. Honey and mint should make it taste sweet and fresh,” Chireadan promises him confidently.

“Hmm now that sounds good, so much nicer than drowner brain,” Jaskier says and then turns to kiss Geralt’s cheek. “Have fun. We’ll be upstairs when you’re ready.” 

Geralt brings Jaskier's hand to his lips, kisses its back before releasing it and makes his way downstairs. He can hear the two of them chatting and laughing all the way down to the laboratory.

“Welcome, Geralt,” Elaedres says without taking his eyes from where he’s pouring liquid from one vial into another.

“Elaedres,” Geralt greets him in return, stepping closer towards the long table in the middle of the room. “I see you’ve prepared most of it already.” 

He regards the different ingredients they discussed the night before, all set out in a neat line.

“Most, yes,” the elf says, finally looking at Geralt as he sets both vials into a wooden holder with care. His gaze is gentle, and Geralt can see the wisdom of centuries in the depth of his dark eyes. “You can pestle the celandine, it has to be fresh.” His hand sweeps over towards the mortar in an elegant gesture.

“Hm.” Geralt nods and gets to work.

While he grinds the petals, Elaedres measures out some more ingredients and talks Geralt through everything they have already prepared. He’s asking for Geralt’s opinion on some things, and together they agree to make slight changes in the quantities. When Geralt is done, they start mixing some powders, pastes and liquids together, careful of the right order.

Elaedres shows him a collection of glass and copper distillers and one that is in the process of distilling fresh mint. He draws some of the distillate into a glass cup to add it to their mixture, then carefully extracts some of the mint oil that the process produces as well, and adds a small amount with a dropping glass. 

Elaedres takes the flask with the mixture and swirls it around with practised twists of his wrist, his eyes focused with intent on the viscous liquid that sloshes around and he starts humming a tune that makes Geralt’s medallion buzz ever so slightly. Squinting in concentration, Geralt can see the shimmering threads of magic twining their way into the mixture and smiles. 

Hearing about the mysterious hangover potion, he’d assumed that there must be a little bit more to it than a brilliant promotion strategy. If there was a way to brew something against the hammering headache of a night with too much of Lambert’s fucking home-brewed vodka, he’d have found it decades ago. 

Geralt waits silently until Elaedres is finished weaving his magic and watches as he puts the flask over the small stove on the worktop, where a little flame is flickering to heat up the potion slowly. 

“It will need a few minutes of heat, then it’s finished,” Elaedres says, resting his forearms on the worktop and watching the flame.

“Tell me what happens when he drinks it,” Geralt asks, out of pure curiosity.

“If he drinks it with the first signs of a sore throat, he won’t get sick. When he’s already sick, he’ll simply recover within the day,” says Eleadres, then lifts his head to look at Geralt and pauses. Geralt is sure he contemplates whether he can trust a witcher with more details about his secret, but then, he made that choice already by involving Geralt in the whole process. “I made it as powerful as I can, but it will only work for him. For everyone else, it’s a cough syrup. A highly effective one, however, that I would gladly sell in our shop. Only with your permission, of course, since we worked it out together.”

“‘Course, go ahead,” Geralt says, grateful to know Jaskier won’t suffer from annoying colds this season. “I knew something was off when Jaskier woke before me, bright as the day, after I had to carry him upstairs last night. You be careful though, if word about this gets around, could get dangerous.”

“I thank you for your concern, but fear not. Only a few selected potions get this kind of treatment, and it’s not nearly as potent as what I am able to produce for dear friends.”

Geralt merely lifts one eyebrow to show his interest, not wanting to pressure the elf to reveal even more depth to his talent, but Elaedres only cocks his head in amusement and goes on.

“In Rinde, Chireadan came to me, shortly after your departure, asking me for help because he thought he might be under a spell he couldn’t detect himself. Said a witcher thought so too and told me the whole tale of the djinn. We were sure what the sorceress did to you to get rid of the council members was something entirely different, also short-lived. He had been affected for quite a while, and his heart grew heavier each passing day. 

“In the end, it turned out to be a simple loyalty spell, that I’m sure she didn’t intend to work quite like this on him. She must have designed it to simply distract him from his task, so he’d obey her and let her be. What it did was turn his admiration for her into desperate devotion. It made him feel lovesick. Normally it would have worn off after she didn’t need him anymore, but for some reason it had stuck to him. You know first hand how powerful she is. I, with my simple talent, was only able to brew a potion potent enough to break this spell because I love him.” Elaedres’ gaze had drifted back to the flame, seemingly lost in memory.

“Sorry, we should have stayed and helped,” Geralt offers, knowing it’s a lame apology. It had been a rough few days in Rinde for everyone involved.

“Oh don’t be, Jaskier helped him just fine. I think his honesty about his feelings for you made Chireadan realise his own feelings for the mage were of a different nature after all. Maybe he wouldn't have sought me out, otherwise. I still don’t fully understand what happened that day, but you all ended up alive and happy, so I choose not to dwell on it.”

“Wise choice,” Geralt mutters, trying to bury the ugly memories of that day deep down. Elaedres' gentle smile helps to ease the bitter aftertaste of them somehow, and he finds himself relaxing again. He's also oddly relieved that someone as experienced and wise as Elaedres can't make sense of those happenings either.

“So, tell me, witcher,” Elaedres turns his attention back to the flask over the stove, picks it up with a cloth to not burn himself and puts it carefully down on the table, “which choice did you make this morning?” The elf doesn’t look at him, busies himself with pouring the potion into a robust, leather-bound bottle, and leaves Geralt to answer in his own time without the pressure of eye contact, which Geralt appreciates greatly. He watches him cork the bottle with practised ease before he answers.

“I agreed to your proposal,” Geralt says carefully. He doesn't feel comfortable to talk to anyone but Jaskier about his desires, but he assumes as he is about to partake in a sexual activity with this elf, he should show at least a bit of maturity on this topic.

Elaedres looks at him then and raises one eyebrow. “I hope you're not just indulging your lover here. Will be more fun if you enjoy yourself as well.”

Geralt has no doubt that he will enjoy himself. He has seen Jaskier walk away with beautiful people in his arms countless times, always with a sickening feeling to his stomach, and he's resolutely tried not to picture him with any of them out of self-preservation. Now, knowing Jaskier chooses him above others and will always return to him, makes the prospect of watching him with someone else so much more appealing.

“No, not just indulging him,” says Geralt, smirking in a way that he hopes counts as flirtatious. The past 15 years of his life are the best example of how bad he is at this.

He must have done something right, because Elaedres looks at him with a hungry gleam in his eyes and walks slowly towards him. There’s a swing in his step, as if he walks over the soft and mossy ground of a lush forest. “Good,” he says, as he brushes past him, close but not touching, “then please follow me upstairs.”

*

Jaskier watches as Geralt adjusts the armchair beside the bedside table, a little angled so he is going to have a good view of the bed, where Chireadan and Elaedres have already settled and are busy undressing each other. He sits down after a little adjusting and Jaskier immediately straddles his lap, not wanting Geralt to start feeling awkward. 

They had a quick chat before they moved to the bedroom, just a simple clarification of consent, and even though Jaskier could sense a certain kind of nervousness around Geralt, it does seem to be more happy anticipation than anything else. And now, firmly settled in Geralt’s lap, he can confirm said happy anticipation in Geralt’s trousers.

He leans in for a kiss, brushes both hands through Geralt’s hair and rests them on either side of his face as he deepens the kiss. He can hear the elves on the bed, and by the sounds they are making, are probably naked already. With Geralt, he wants to take his time, see if he’s still comfortable when things get a bit more heated.

Geralt’s hands slip up under his shirt and up his back, which is a good sign, so Jaskier draws out of the kiss and pulls it over his head. Geralt’s hands are back as soon as the fabric is out of the way and Jaskier stretches into the touch, exposing his chest which Geralt takes as an invitation to pepper it with open-mouthed kisses. Jaskier lets him, for a little while, before he puts his hands on Geralt’s sides to push his shirt up, and then off, as well. 

Geralt hugs him close, chest against chest, as tight as possible and buries his nose in Jaskier’s neck, breathing deeply.

“Darling, when you need me close, tell me, or just join us. Alright?” Jaskier needs it to be confirmed once more, needs to hear that Geralt knows he can voice his needs at any moment.

“Alright,” Geralt confirms, and moves his mouth close to his ear. “I’ll be watching you,” he says, in his most gravelly voice that makes Jaskier moan and shiver as the goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.

With a teasing roll of his hips, he growls back, “Yes, watch me closely.”

Geralt only hums in response and loosens his grip so Jaskier can pull out of his embrace, which he does after one more lingering kiss. He stands, still as close as possible and between Geralt’s legs, with his hands working on the fastenings of his trousers. Geralt’s gaze drops, and he slows down his movements teasingly, but once his fastenings are undone, he shoves the fabric down without ceremony. Having previously taken off their boots already, he’s quick to step out of them, which puts more distance between them, and the backs of his legs hit the bed.

When Geralt’s hands move to mirror him, Jaskier only lets him unto the first few buttons before chiding him. “Uh-uh, not yet,” he says, winking in response to Geralt’s frustrated huff. “Wait until I tell you to, just watch for now.”

He sends Geralt a sweet smile before climbing on the bed and turning his attention towards Elaedres and Chireadan. Immersed in a deep kiss, Chireadan is straddling his lover, who is leaning comfortably against a row of pillows. For a moment, Jaskier simply observes.

Elaedres has one hand hooked behind Chireadan’s thigh, holding him gently in place where he slowly rocks against him while they kiss unhurriedly, and the other is curled lightly around one of his wrists where he’s braced himself on Eleadres’ shoulders. 

There is a deep-rooted gentleness to their touch, and a carelessness regarding the passing of time seeps through their languid caresses, like they could do this, just this, for days. Maybe they do, sometimes, because as long-living beings, whyever should they not want to spend days on end in their lover’s gentle embrace. Jaskier knows he will disturb this peaceful lovemaking, hurry it along, eventually, with his human urges, but he also longs to be part of it.

Slowly, he moves closer, announcing himself with a touch to Chireadan’s side as he, carefully in tune with their rhythm, straddles Elaedres’ thighs to kneel behind Chireadan. He is welcomed with a warm back pressing against his chest, as Chireadan slowly draws out of the kiss, leans back and puts his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier nuzzles his nose behind his ear and strokes both hands up and down his sides. He glances over at Geralt, whose eyes are fixed on him, hands gripping the armrests tightly in order to keep them away from touching himself. His expression, however, is not tense, there’s a smirk lurking in the corner of his slightly parted mouth, and his eyes gleam with curiosity, mapping the way Jaskier’s hands travel along the smooth skin of Chireadan’s slender body.

Jaskier brings his hands to the elf’s chest, stroking feather-light over his nipples, remembering how much he likes it, and enjoys that Geralt’s gaze follows the movement of his hands. Chireadan arches into the touch, makes soft noises every time Jaskier’s fingers dance teasingly over his sensitive spots, just as Jaskier hoped he would, and Geralt’s resulting hum of pleasure makes him moan and press himself more tightly against Chireadan’s back. 

This close, he can feel the back of Elaedres’ hand still wrapped around Chireadan’s thigh on the front of his own, and he shifts his focus to look down at him. Hungry, half-lidded eyes are watching him, his arousal prominent against his stomach as he lazily lounges against the pillows, absolutely content to watch them.

Jaskier allows himself just a few more languid rolls of his hips against Chireadan’s back while he caresses his torso, before he wants to turn his attention fully towards the pleasure of the others for a while.

He kisses Chireadan’s ear, traces the shell with his tongue, and says, “How would you like to come for the first time, tonight?”

“Jaskier,” Chireadan gasps, turning his head to mouth along Jaskier’s jawline. He brings a hand up to Jaskier’s lips and traces the bow of his upper lip with the backs of his fingers. “Your mouth,” he says eventually.

“I know you thought about my mouth, tell me what you want me to do with it,” Jaskier smiles and pokes out his tongue to touch Chireadan’s fingers.

“Please do what we both wanted, last time, but couldn’t. Please.” The last word comes out as a deep sigh and Jaskier wraps his arms tightly around him.

“Oh it’s going to be my pleasure, dear friend,” Jaskier says, kissing his shoulder and holding him close a little longer. “Lean back against Elaedres, will you?” he asks, opening his arms and Chireadan moves away, turning to give him one of his shy and simultaneously seductive smiles as he crawls over his lover.

They exchange a deep kiss before Chireadan settles with his back against Elaedres’ chest. Jaskier sits back on his heels, between the spread legs of the elves, touches their hands briefly with a reassuring squeeze where they lie entwined on a brown thigh. 

Jaskier lets his fingers dance over Chireadan’s thighs and looks over to Geralt. “Undress, my love, I want to see you.”

Geralt complies immediately, and even though not with haste, he still makes some noises of relief when his cock springs free and Jaskier watches him recline in the armchair once he’s fully naked. 

“Touch yourself where my mouth touches him,” Jaskier says breathily, lowering his head to kiss the inside of Chireadan’s knee. They both moan at the touch he bestowed to only one of them and he rewards Geralt with an encouraging smile. 

“Yes,” he moans, “the both of you, let me hear you, it's the sweetest music in my ears.” 

His mouth travels slowly upwards, a teasing line up to Chireadan’s hip, over his abdomen and down the other leg, as Geralt’s hands are following the trail. The noises they make, soft panting and keening huffs, turn into deep moans once Jaskier laps at the precome dripping from Chireadan’s cock, and Geralt wraps his hand around his own.

Chireadan’s stuttering hips make his cock jump against Jaskier’s tongue so he holds it steady at the base and keeps licking. Geralt can’t keep still, out of the corner of his eyes Jaskier can see how the movements of his hips push his cock in and out of his own hand. “Geralt, darling, slow down please, and use some oil. I’ll see to you once I’ve taken care of Chireadan. Can you wait for me?”

“Yes,” Geralt grits out, followed by a groan as Jaskier sucks the head of Chireadan’s cock into his mouth while keeping eye contact with Geralt. He pulls off again.

“Hmm, good,” he hums, meaning both of them, then he closes his eyes and swallows Chireadan all the way down. 

The room is soon filled with sounds of pleasure of all kinds and Jaskier’s cock throbs with the power of it all. He keeps throwing looks at Geralt, who is either watching him with his hand curled loosely around his cock, or leans his head back with closed eyes, stroking himself slowly. Watching Jaskier while stroking himself is apparently too much at once.

Chireadan beneath him is a delight. He arches into his touch, enjoys the light teasing with enthusiastic patience, never pulling or pushing Jaskier, only responds with reassuring touches to his shoulder and neck and the most beautiful noises. He has one arm stretched out above him, and Elaedres trails his fingers lightly up and down, making him shiver each time they move across his armpit. Occasionally, he cranes his neck, silently begging for a kiss that Elaedres grants him each time.

Jaskier takes him deep, presses his tongue against the underside of his cock and swirls it around the head when he pulls up again. His fingers, slick with saliva and precome, caress his balls, and he lets them stray further down now, which makes the elf whimper as he traces patterns on sensitive skin. 

“Jaskier, please,” Chireadan sighs softly, not demanding, and Jaskier lets his cock slip from his mouth.

“You are ready to come for us?” Jaskier asks, one hand busy massaging behind his balls and a stray finger tracing his cleft.

“Yes,” Chireadan says, barely more than a whisper while he squirms, pressing his shoulders into Elaedres’ chest.

Jaskier reaches for Elaedres' free hand, places their fingers so they can both play with Chireadan’s hard nipples. Chireadan’s whimpers turn into whines as soon as Jaskier takes him into his mouth again. He doesn’t take it slow anymore, sets a fast and steady rhythm, moans around the hard length as he sucks it deep down his throat.

Chireadan climaxes with a beautiful, high pitched cry that makes the heat pooled in Jaskier’s belly boil to an almost uncomfortable degree. He swallows and licks him carefully clean before pulling off. Lying his head on his thigh, he catches his breath, cautious not to poke his aching cock into anything. 

For a moment, he can’t even look at Geralt, as much as he wants to, but he feels the image of him would be all it takes to make him spill untouched. Although even with closed eyes, he can hear Geralt’s heavy breathing, too far away, not within reach, and he can’t deny him any longer. He opens his eyes and with the look Geralt gives him, the distance between them becomes overwhelming.

“Chireadan, be sweet with your love while I check on mine, yes? I’ll be back with you two in a while.”

“Hmm,” Chireadan hums and cups Jaskier's face gently for a moment before turning around to face Elaedres as Jaskier disentangles himself from the elves on the bed.

He can't resist dropping a kiss on Chireadan’s arse cheek, which evokes a delightful yelp, before he stands and crosses the small space to Geralt with one step before falling to his knees before him.

Geralt leans down to kiss him immediately, then reaches for him, picks him up, and reverses their positions as he sits him gently down into the armchair — all without breaking the kiss. When he draws his lips from Jaskier’s, it’s to kiss a trail from his throat to chest and further down. Jaskier leans back with a sigh, closing his eyes. He can’t resist even though he wanted to do this to Geralt, denying himself longer, saving his limited human stamina to keep up. Geralt’s kisses have reached his abdomen, he mouths at the base of his cock, presses his thighs apart with strong fingers as his thumbs dig into sensitive skin on each side of his tight balls.

“Ah, Geralt, I had plans,” he gasps weakly.

Geralt’s huff tickles where the air disturbs the hair at the base of his cock. 

“Between the three of us, we’ll find plenty of ways to make you hard again,” Geralt says and from the bed, Chireadan and Elaedres moan their affirmation enthusiastically. “Open your eyes, watch them, and enjoy.” 

He looks down at Geralt first, just in time to watch his cock disappear into his mouth, and groans at the sight and the feeling of it. Geralt pushes his arms past Jaskier’s thighs, snakes them around to the small of his back to tug him forward a bit, closer towards him until the insides of Jaskier’s knees touch his shoulders and his cock the back of his throat. 

With a deep moan, Jaskier relaxes, puts a hand on the back of Geralt’s neck so he can feel the muscles move and finally looks over to the bed. 

Chireadan’s head is buried in Elaedres’ groin, bobbing up and down in a smooth rhythm. Elaedres hasn’t moved from his spot propped against the headboard, and he lounges perfectly still, has one hand on his lover’s neck, the other in his hair and he’s constantly showering Chireadan with words of praise in Elder, his voice breathless but steady.

Jaskier moans shamelessly as Geralt sucks him perfectly, slow and deep, just as he likes it best, and he looks his fill. As he feels his orgasm approaching, he tightens his fingers on Geralt’s neck and he slows down a bit, draws out his movements, and it almost turns him on even more because Geralt knows him so well. It’s something Jaskier is still not used to, after a life of hopping into bed with the most tantalising person — a certain witcher, if present, not included — the day had to offer. He has friends he took to bed repeatedly, and then there is his Countess who has always been an exception, but with Geralt, everything feels more intense, more intimate and private than anything he’s ever experienced.

On the bed, Elaedres is panting now, and Chireadan looks up at him, expectantly, as if waiting for a command. It comes a few bobs of his head later, a request in Elder to halt, and Chireadan takes his cock deep into his throat and stills. They simply watch each other for a moment, before Chireadan closes his eyes and Elaedres starts thrusting into his mouth. He takes him so beautifully, and stays so still, Jaskier is captivated at the sight of them.

Movement in front of him distracts him. It’s Geralt, pushing a hand down to bring himself off while still pleasuring Jaskier with his mouth. He starts moaning around Jaskier’s cock now and that would have made Jaskier peak a few moments later, but what beats it by seconds is Chireadan suddenly opening his eyes to look at Jaskier at the same moment when Elaedres cries out in pleasure and comes down his throat. His eyes flutter but never close and he keeps eye contact with Jaskier as he swallows.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cries out, digs his fingers into the base of Geralt’s skull and comes with shuddering gasps. Jaskier only averts his eyes from Chireadan when Geralt follows him over the edge swiftly after. Geralt is breathing heavily through his nose while his mouth is still engulfing him, his eyes squeezed shut. He swallows most of Jaskier’s spend, and he’s not letting Jaskier’s cock slip out of his mouth before he’s done himself. Geralt keeps licking and sucking, carefully but sloppy now that he trembles and a bit of Jaskier’s come escapes his lips as he grunts around his cock. It dribbles down his chin and Jaskier wipes it away with his thumb.

“Breathtaking, the lot of you,” Jaskier chuckles hoarsely, petting Geralt’s hair as he catches his breath with his head resting against Jaskier’s knee. 

After a peaceful moment, Geralt reaches for the bowl of wet cloths on the bedside table to clean them both. Then he gets up, gathers Jaskier in his arms and picks him up. Jaskier hums in delight. It’s something no other lover could do in quite the way Geralt is able to, he’s never felt safer in anyone else's arms. Geralt only has to turn around to put him down onto the bed, but he takes the time to kiss him before he does. 

There is a second of hesitation before Geralt climbs in behind him, and with Elaedres and Chireadan already making space for them, there’s plenty of room on the bed for the four of them. Jaskier leans his back against Geralt’s chest and squeezes the hand that snakes around his waist to hold him close.

“Tell us about your plans,” Geralt says, and Jaskier does.

By the time he’s done telling them about most of the fantasies his mind has come up with since last night, and some he invented on the spot, the elves are already making out again beside them. Jaskier feels Geralt’s hard cock pressing into his back and his own is growing rapidly.

“So what’s your favourite, then?” Chireadan asks, sitting up in Elaedres’ lap. His short hair is tousled, his lips red and wet and his eyes have this particular look of gentle curiosity Jaskier feels unable to resist.

“Impossible to decide, really, but since you ask so sweetly, I’ll go with anything that makes you put your pretty mouth on me, and will later allow me to put my cock inside you,” Jaskier says, holding out his hand in invitation.

“I was hoping you’d want something like that,” says Chireadan, tilting his head and licking his lips. He takes Jaskier’s outstretched hand, entwines their finger in the air and regards their point of contact closely. “Will you prepare me slowly with your beautiful fingers? They contain such skill and must feel wonderful.”

“Oh I most certainly will, as slowly as you want, we’ve got all day,” he smiles at Chireadan, tugs him closer by the hand and then turns his head to look at Geralt. “Do you want to stay on the bed with us?”

“Hmm,” Geralt confirms, kissing the top of his head, and whispers, “and I’ll lick you open when you prepare him, how’s that sound?”

Jaskier only manages a heartfelt groan in response and pulls Chireadan towards him the rest of the way. 

With a lapful of elf kissing his way down his chest, Jaskier looks over at Elaedres, who nods and smiles seductively as he lazily strokes his cock. Geralt is a solid presence behind him, nipping at his ear and neck and shoulder, everywhere he can reach from his position. When Chireadan sucks him into his mouth, his mind goes pleasantly blank and he just lets himself enjoy.

Chireadan’s mouth is soft and clever and works him almost to the edge two times before Jaskier decides through the pleasant fog in his mind that he can’t hold back a third time. Gently, he strokes his fingers over Chireadan’s head to guide him away from his groin. 

“Come up here for a moment, my sweeting,” says Jaskier, and while Chireadan crawls up his body, his eyes are fixed on Geralt. His movements are slow, checking if the closeness is welcome and ready to retreat. 

The low hum deep in Geralt’s chest is a clear approval and so Jaskier pulls Chireadan in by the neck, kisses one cheek and cups the other one with his hand.

“Marvelous,” he breathes against his skin.

Jaskier strokes down his side, over his bottom and up again with a teasing finger brushing his cleft. “I’ll be so slow, and fuck you even slower,” he whispers.

“Yes,” Chireadan gasps, a shiver running through his body and his head falls on Jaskier’s shoulder where he can feel his breath hot against his skin. He starts placing kisses there, on the side of Jaskier’s neck, one after another, on the same spot. Jaskier can only guess, but assumes it must be the spot where almost a year ago, the darkest bruise had bloomed under his skin.

“Good,” he says gently, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Get the oil and wait in Elaedres’ arms for me, like this, on your hands and knees.” 

A last lingering kiss is placed on the spot and then Chireadan retreats, his head tilting up to search for his lover’s eyes as he crawls over.

Jaskier turns, finds Geralt with a pleased smile on his face and kisses him deeply. Drawing out of the kiss with a mischievous smirk, he slides down his body and sucks Geralt’s cock deep into his mouth a few times before pulling off again despite his delicious moan.

“You promised me _your_ tongue,” he smiles up at him, “I’ll let you know when I want it.”

With a defeated grunt, Geralt watches as Jaskier kneels up behind Chireadan. He draws back from kissing Elaedres and lifts his hand to press the vial of oil into Jaskier’s hand. He’s already slicking up his fingers as Chireadan rests his forehead on his lover’s shoulder and angles his hips just so that Jaskier is presented with the perfect angle to slide his fingers into his waiting hole.

As promised, Jaskier starts maddeningly slow. Just soft strokes between his cheeks, up and down his cleft, a light pressure when he passes his entrance and Chireadan is already reduced to desperate whines every time Jaskier doesn’t push in and resumes to move past it. Elaedres holds him lovingly, hands petting his hair, stroking his back, but his eyes are fixed on Jaskier.

It’s both incredibly hot and a reminder that even though he’s been playing a passive role so far, he’s still right there, and Chireadan is his. Jaskier can’t help but be intrigued if he can involve him a little bit more, so he holds his gaze.

“How much longer can we keep him like this?” Jaskier asks and is rewarded with a knowing smile that makes his knees weak.

“Just a little bit longer,” Elaedres says gently, rubbing soothing circles over Chireadan’s upper back as he whines quietly into his shoulder.

So Jaskier applies more oil, kneads his cheeks with his free hand and keeps going, until finally there is a nod from Elaedres. 

“Start with one finger.”

The resulting moan from Chireadan as Jaskier breaches him with the tip of his finger is delicious, and Jaskier is hungry for more.

“So good, letting us hear how much you like this. Perfect,” Jaskier keeps praising him.

He takes his time, withdrawing and re-entering him, just the tip at first and then up to the first knuckle. His eyes travel from his task at hand to Geralt, gazing at him intensely, and over to Elaedres, waiting for the next instructions.

After his second finger is buried in Chireadan’s arse, his own cock twitches and aches with each of his moans, every huff of heavy breath from Geralt, and every word that leaves Elaedres’ mouth. He needs more.

“Geralt, I need you now, come here,” he says, shuffling back a bit. “Chireadan, my dear, I’m going to remove my fingers for a little while, so you can turn around and get comfortable again.” 

There is a tiny gasp when Jaskier pulls out and a shudder runs through Chireadan’s body at the sudden emptiness. He moves for one last reassuring kiss before he rearranges himself with his back against Elaedres’ chest. Jaskier puts a cushion under his hips, then crouches down, now braced on his spread knees and his elbows. He looks back at where Geralt has positioned himself at the foot of the bed, awaiting further guidance.

Jaskier puts a hand on Chireadan’s inner thigh. “I’m back, dear, I’m back. I’m going to add another finger now and Elaedres will tell me when you’re ready for me.” 

“And I will touch you, my love, when you need it,” Elaedres says, and runs his hands down Chireadan’s chest, then leaves them both resting on his stomach, only inches away from where his cock is leaking drops of precome. 

Chireadan seems blissfully at ease with all the attention and sighs when Jaskier enters him again.

“Geralt, your tongue please,” Jaskier says, looking over his shoulder towards Geralt, who is already lowering his head.

Oh, and it’s distracting, blissfully so. He tries to focus on the movements of his hand, to keep the established rhythm up, but as Geralt’s tongue laps over his entrance, and then dips in, he feels his other hand grip Chireadan’s thigh tightly. Moans escape him and it becomes harder to keep his eyes open every time Geralt pushes in, pulls out, swirls his tongue around his hole and licks into him yet again.

Suddenly there’s a fingertip too, pressing in alongside his tongue. Slippery, so Geralt must have used some oil, and he presses in deep.

“Oh fuck Geralt, keep that finger inside me when I fuck him.” He feels Geralt’s growl in his very core.

Elaedres uses that moment to wrap his hand around Chireadan’s cock, and only a few light strokes make him arch his back and his whines become desperate. 

“You are ready for him, my love, aren’t you?” Elaedres asks, voice low and steady as ever.

“Yes, yes, please,” Chireadan sobs incoherently.

Elaedres waits for a few excruciatingly long moments, where Jaskier feels the slide of Geralt’s finger and tongue inside him more intensely than before, until he finally gives his permission.

“Enter him, Jaskier,” he says simply.

Jaskier drops kisses on Chireadan’s inner thigh as he withdraws his fingers, keeps one hand there as a point of contact as he oils up his cock. Geralt straightens up behind him and Jaskier feels the loss of his tongue, but his shoulder is kissed and one finger is still buried inside of him, not moving.

“I’m here,” Geralt murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the short hair on Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier positions himself. Bending down and braced on one hand to be closer to Chireadan, he lines up his cock with the other and pushes the head inside carefully. He feels himself clench around Geralt’s finger, as Chireadan gasps beneath him, clutches his arm and tightens his grip the deeper Jaskier sinks in.

Finally seated fully inside Chireadan, he waits, watching the movements of Elaedres’ hand on his cock until it stills. Jaskier kisses Chireadan’s forehead, then his temple, his shoulder. 

“I’m going to move now,” he says, as a warning as well as a command to himself. 

He starts with careful rolls of his hips, still braced low, trying out how it feels when he pushes back against Geralt’s finger. His hand grips his arse cheeks tightly, the one finger pressed in all the way, and he follows Jaskier’s movements in a way that the finger inside him doesn’t actually move. But Geralt crooks it sometimes, touching the exact right spot for Jaskier to see stars and lose focus.

His own moans mix with Chireadan’s as their lovers hold them, encouraging them to find their pleasure together. Jaskier feels his self-control slip away with every thrust, so he sits up, pulls one of Chireadan’s legs up and holds it there. The new angle lets him sink in deeper, takes his breath away and the intensity is making Chireadan sound absolutely lost in pleasure as he lies so beautifully between them. 

“More, Geralt, one more, want to take you later,” Jaskier manages to say, utterly breathless and barely able to form the words.

Geralt grumbles a broken sounding _fuck_ into his shoulder, where he's pressed close against Jaskier's back and pushes another finger inside. He's still keeping his hand as steady as possible, even when Jaskier speeds up his thrusts after a while. His other broad hand holds on to his hip, anchoring him.

“Jaskier,” Elaedres says gently, and Jaskier finds it difficult to focus, “when I touch him again, he’s going to come quickly. Are you ready?”

“Just a, ah, a moment. Geralt, I want you to enter me as soon as he starts coming. Fuck, I’m so close.”

Jaskier tries to hold on a few more thrusts, feels himself clench around Geralt’s fingers and watches Chireadan arch weakly into his every movement. He looks at Elaedres and nods.

When Elaedres’s hand curls around his cock, Chireadan tenses and his moans come out more like little sobs. He raises one trembling hand towards Jaskier, who takes it, squeezes it, and holds on. 

“Come for us, love,” Elaedres whispers in Chireadan's ear and with a choked off moan, he peaks, and Jaskier feels Geralt's cock entering him at the same moment. 

He tries his best to slow his thrusts into Chireadan down, who squirms through his waves of pleasure, until Jaskier stops moving, letting Geralt's thrusts be the force that rocks them together where he's buried deep. 

Only one particularly good aimed nudge from Geralt's cock is needed for Jaskier to lose his carefully guarded control and reach his climax. He falls forward onto his forearms, breathing hard around his cries and into Chireadan's chest. 

Geralt follows him so quickly, that Jaskier can't even get himself together fast enough to pull out of Chireadan, but a quick look at his blissed-out face shows that he doesn't mind. They let Geralt ride out his release, until his thrusts stop eventually, holding onto each other, still joined.

Geralt lands on the bed beside them with a satisfied grunt and after a kiss to Chireadan's temple, Jaskier rolls over into Geralt's arms and lets himself be pulled into a lazy kiss.

How Chireadan manages, even in his state of utter exhausted contentment, to gracefully turn around, take Elaedres into his mouth and bring him to orgasm in less than a minute is beyond Jaskier.

“Huh,” he huffs, impressed, and pats Chireadan on his bottom in appreciation.

“Let us rest, my friend,” Chireadan laughs softly and out of breath, moving up to lie his head on Elaedres' stomach. “Food and hot baths later.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Jaskier mumbles as his eyes fall shut and he dozes off to the low hum of happy approval rolling through Geralt's chest. 

*

Jaskier wakes with Chireadan in his arms, still sleeping and his face pressed against his chest, and the bed otherwise empty. There are faint sounds from downstairs, and he assumes Geralt and Elaedres are probably preparing a bath or food or whatever, but he’s too content to think about necessities right now.

He combs his fingers through Chireadan’s soft hair, which makes him snuffle in an endearing way, and when his nose brushes Jaskier’s chest hair, the snuffling intensifies and Chireadan stirs awake. Sleepy eyes find his own and light up. 

“Sing for me,” Chireadan whispers.

“Requesting a song from a man still half asleep, unbathed and covered in the traces of our lovemaking?” Jaskier chuckles and drops a kiss to his forehead. 

“You haven’t sung for us this time, I can’t bear to part without having heard at least one song.”

Chireadan’s pout and his big eyes are irresistible. An old elven ballad comes to mind, one of his favourites, which he has attempted to translate, but was never quite satisfied with the result.

“Of course, my sweeting, how can I refuse.”

And so he sings; first the original verses in Elder, then the parts of his translation and fills the rest in with soft humming.

_"To adore you is all my life_

_Fair Ettariel_

_Let me keep, then, the treasure of memories_

_And the magical flower;_

_A pledge and sign of your love._

_Silvered by drops of dew as if by tears."_

Chireadan sighs happily when he’s finished, wriggles a bit higher to reach his throat with his lips.

“If any human can find the right words to tell this tale, it’s you,” he says with his lips moving against his skin, placing kisses along his jawline.

Jaskier shifts, pulls Chireadan on top of him, where he continues to kiss his way down his neck until he rests his head in the middle of Jaskier’s chest. With Jaskier keeping on humming the tune, and his fingers caressing Chireadan’s back, they doze off again, and that’s how Geralt must have found them.

Opening his eyes, Jaskier finds Geralt perched on the bed, his hand upon Jaskier’s, where it rests on the small of Chireadan’s back. He’s dressed again, smelling faintly of roses.

“Bath is ready, food will be soon,” Gerald says, stroking his thumb across his knuckles, and a bit further, slipping down on Chireadan’s skin and back again. He looks so _fond_ that Jaskier’s heart does several little somersaults, which he knows Geralt is able to hear.

“Thank you. Just have to wake this beauty, keeps falling asleep on me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Can't blame him, it's a nice thing to do,” Geralt says and playfully ruffles Chireadan’s hair.

“Ow, this beauty is awake, thank you very much,” Chireadan laughs and raises his head, his hair tousled into a very appealing mess.

He rolls off Jaskier, kneels up on the bed beside him and stretches his lean body with his arms raised over his head. Geralt must have noticed Jaskier’s eyes raking over the planes of silky skin because he huffs in mock-annoyance, “Insatiable.”

When Jaskier is unable to avert his eyes, because Chireadan just grins and stretches more languidly and with the obvious purpose of keeping Jaskier’s attention, Geralt stands up with a sigh.

“Whoever’s in the tub first, is the most beautiful,” Geralt says and steps back to make room for what he must know will be a race down the stairs.

“Oh, you are _on_ ,” Jaskier yells, hopping out of the bed, half falling over his own feet on his way to the door, quickly followed by Chireadan stumbling into him.

When they finally tumble into the big tub simultaneously, it’s only fair when they leave it up to Elaedres and Geralt to decide who won, while they gently bath each other and throw teasing looks at them.

And when there is still no decision made when Jaskier and Chireadan are clean, they decide Geralt and Elaedres would be off the hook if they serve them the food in bed, which leads to Geralt being grumpy that his plan to get them out of bed backfired. However, after all this fuss ends with all of them being sweaty and gross again, he doesn’t complain and just heats up the water again with a measured blast of Igni.

*

When they say their goodbyes in the afternoon, it’s with a promise that Jaskier and Geralt will visit them once more before they go out on the Path again, and will return whenever it leads them to the vicinity of Novigrad.

Before returning to their rooms in the Rockrose, they take Roach out of the stables to stop by a horse trader Geralt knows treats his horses well. He allows them to bring Roach inside the stables to see if she likes one of them. Unfortunately, they are happy to even get her outside again with all the stubborn fuss she is making.

“Don't worry, darling,” Jaskier coos, walking close beside her, a hand on her neck, “we'll look somewhere else. No pressure.” Jaskier wouldn't be happy with a horse that Roach dislikes anyway.

They don't talk much on their way back, but Jaskier hopes to get a few private words out of Geralt later. Renata welcomes them back and promptly serves them wine and a stew that smells amazing, but they are only allowed to get once they promise the bed is still intact and will also be the following morning.

“I solemnly swear on my honour,” Jaskier says, placing his hand on his heart and sends a dark look at Geralt who chokes beside him, unable to stifle a laugh.

Renata laughs heartily and sets down the plates in front of them.

“You should make him swear on the other furniture in the room, too,” Geralt says drily.

Jaskier sucks in an offended breath, huffing theatrically in search of words. “Who, may I ask, was the one putting me down on that table, huh?”

Geralt just hums innocently around a spoonful of stew. “Very good, thank you,” he says to Renata.

“One as bad as the other,” she sighs fondly. “And what a pair you make.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much,” Jaskier huffs, and digs into his stew as well, instantly distracted by the warmth and the flavour filling his mouth. “Oh but this _is_ very good indeed, heavenly.”

“I’ll pass on your compliments to Zofia, then,” Renata chuckles, turning to leave.

“No need, I’ll write her an ode about this stew!” Jaskier exclaims, his spoon raised in the air. “Juicy and rich, deliciously hot, filling me with warmth like a lover’s—”

“Please don’t!” Renata interrupts him. “Just clean the table in your room before you leave,” she laughs and throws a kitchen cloth at him.

They eat in companionable silence after this, because the stew really is delicious. There’s only one thing in the back of Jaskier’s mind, because he hasn’t forgotten that they wanted to talk about their winter separation. It’s important, they probably shouldn’t wait until the memory of it starts to fade and new adventures get in the way.

“Do you want to talk about your winter?” Jaskier tries, hoping Geralt will open up about it again.

“Not much to talk about. Trained a lot, repaired some walls, made plans with Vesemir to maybe keep the old signal tower from falling down completely next season, read some books Eskel lent me, got drunk on Lambert’s vodka, played gwent and lost too many rounds to both of them. Mostly missed you, is all,” Geralt says, not meeting his eyes and continuing to eat.

“For this year, I could maybe find a replacement for my lectures, and come with you, if you'd like. I just _—_ ” and he pauses, trying to find gentle words, but the truth can’t be softened. “I like this job. Couldn't do it all year, you know me and my restless arse, but for a few cold months, it suits me. I do like to teach the young ones about the reality of it all, prepare them, give some guidance, support a few selected ones where I can. No professor did that for us, back then.

“It's also a steady income for at least part of the year. Everything I make on the road, we also spend on the road, but the coin from winter, I can put into my accounts. Which, you have to admit, always got us some extra luxuries in the past.”

“Jaskier, I know your accounts are bursting, you don't need that as an excuse. But I’m not asking you to give up your lecturing. I'd never ask you to give up something that you enjoy.” Geralt looks up at him now and reaches for Jaskier’s hand, stilling it where it was twiddling with the spoon. “Winter in Kaer Morhen is freezing and lonely. Once you get there, you can’t leave before the trail is traversable again. I’ve never asked you to accompany me there because I know you have your own way of spending winter and wouldn’t enjoy mine.”

“At least you’d be less lonely and less cold with me there,” Jaskier tries, because even though they’ve already talked about this, something is not yet right.

“Having only four witchers for company all winter long, trapped in a broken keep, can't possibly make you happy,” Geralt says, and it sounds non-negotiable. Like for Geralt, Jaskier fitting in there seems just as unlikely as the thought of Geralt spending winter happily in Oxenfurt seems to Jaskier.

“We don’t know that, Geralt. I’d like to meet them, the other wolves I only know from your sparse tales. See this mythical keep for myself. You got to see what academy life is for me; you know my rooms, know some people I spend time with here. When I pictured you in winter, on many melancholic nights, for all the years I’ve known you, I always pictured you lonely and cold in a snowed-in and half-destroyed fortress. But that’s not it, right? It’s your home. Your family. You might all be grumpy, but in winter you can be happily grumpy together.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Geralt snorts.

“See, I did some thinking. Triss always spends some time in Novigrad in the winters, you think she would open a portal for me?” Geralt just stares at him, his stew forgotten. “I could visit for a few days, you could show me around. Then I could decide for myself if I wanted to stay for a whole season in the future. Or I could just keep on visiting whenever it’s possible. We could make that work.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Geralt finally says, releasing Jaskier’s hand, giving it a relieved pat. He’s looking into his bowl for a while before he resumes eating with a little surprised grunt.

“Great! Let’s go find her this summer and see if she’s ok with that,” says Jaskier, reaching out to squeeze Geralt’s arm and lets him eat the rest of his meal in peace.

It’s a compromise. The only logical and manageable compromise Jaskier could think of and he hopes it’s a solution that’s going to work out for both of them.

When they finally settle into bed that night, Jaskier snuggles into Geralt’s side, his head resting on his bare chest. 

“So,” Jaskier says gently, “you were keen on agreeing to visit Chireadan and Elaedres again before we start adventuring, weren’t you?”

“Hm,” Geralt says, and pauses. “I liked watching you.”

“I was very aware of that, thank you. It was a pleasure to be watched by you.”

“They’re good company,” Geralt says hesitantly.

“Yes, they are. Friends,” Jaskier assures him.

“Friends,” Geralt repeats, and presses a kiss into Jaskier’s hair.

*

Jaskier walks ahead, humming an upbeat tune and kicking stones off the road in perfect sync to the rhythm. Geralt knows, without looking back, that the towers of Novigrad are no longer visible behind them, and that soon Oxenfurt’s will be before them.

He’s thinking of a route that will lead them through a few towns where he hopes they can look for horses in the next months, because he has a hunch that it might take a while if Roach is the one in charge of choosing one. The only one she ever accepted in the past was Eskel's Scorpion, and he's sure not going to part with him.

Suddenly, his ears pick up a heart-wrenching cry and terrified whinnies. It’s coming from far off the road so if Jaskier got up on Roach quickly, they could ride hard for a short while to get out of danger. Another cry, louder now that even Jaskier turns around in surprise, looks with wide eyes at Geralt and waits for him to assess the situation.

“Wyverns,” Geralt tells him and points in the direction. “Most likely attacking a herd of wild horses, far off the road, can’t hear humans. Wyverns usually don’t hunt horses, too big for them, but if desperate, they go for foals.”

“We have to help them! Oh, you don’t have your armour,” Jaskier remembers, crestfallen.

“I can hear only two, and if I get hit by their venom, my armour wouldn’t help much. Either we ride there now or we flee.”

“To the rescue!” is Jaskier's stupidly heroic answer. Not that Geralt expected anything else.

Jaskier is gripping Geralt’s offered arm and he hauls him up behind him, only a second later and they dash off into the open woodland.

As always, Geralt stops at a safe enough distance for Jaskier and Roach to wait. He also, out of habit, tells Jaskier to stay put, knowing he'll follow him anyway.

He runs off fast, silver sword in hand, towards the sounds of the attack. When he comes to a hillside, he sees what he already suspected; two not yet mature wyverns trying to catch the foals of a small herd of wild horses. The adults are running around in circles, protecting their young in their midst. 

Geralt seeks protection under a group of trees to get as close to the scene as he can and is lucky to find a spot from where he can cast Aard to shoot one wyvern out of the sky. It drops with a heavy thud into a thicket and Geralt is quick to finish it off before it recovers from the shock. 

His cover is blown now and the second one spots him, with a deafening shriek it flies in his direction. The herd uses the opportunity to flee in the opposite direction to safety. 

Geralt rolls back into the cover of the trees, which gives him time to be able to cast another sign, but from here he can’t aim properly through the treetops at the beast flying directly over them. Ready to attack, he steps into the open. The wyvern spots him too quickly and is already swooping out of the sky towards him, which is why his blast of Aard comes a tad too late for Geralt to jump out of the way and not to be buried under the heavy weight of the falling creature. He rolls it off of him with an annoyed grunt, and needs a few sword swings to fight off the helplessly flapping wings around him, before he can strike it down with one practised hit.

Panting, he stands over the cadaver, when he hears footsteps approach behind him.

“Jaskier,” he says, exasperated and breathless, without turning around where Jaskier must now be stepping out of the sheltering trees. 

Strong arms circle his waist from behind and his anger about Jaskier's recklessness dissipates like it always does. 

“I had to follow you, watching you run into battle without your armour, which was my fault in the first place,” Jaskier whispers into his neck. He smells like sweet relief.

“Fought worse in less clothing,” Geralt grunts, leaning back into the comfort that is Jaskier’s presence behind him. “Horses are safe.”

“But one is wounded, look!” Jaskier releases him and runs towards a white horse lying on the ground in the distance. Geralt follows him at a slower pace and arrives when Jaskier is already kneeling by the horse’s head, talking softly. The animal doesn’t seem to be afraid, so he decides against calming it down with Axii.

Geralt quickly checks it over. The only injury he can see is a cut from the wyvern’s talon across its side, not too deep, no poison injection, no more blood on the ground, so possibly no injury on the side the horse is lying on. 

“Probably wounded because she protected a foal. She’s going to be alright,” Geralt assures Jaskier, “but we should see to her wound.”

Geralt whistles for Roach, knowing she’s near enough to hear him.

“Good girl, we’re going to help you,” Jaskier soothes the horse with words and soft strokes down her neck which she gratefully accepts, nudging Jaskier's knees with her nose.

“White ones are rare, and she’s much too tame to be a wild one.”

“She’s beautiful,” Jaskier says, sounding absolutely smitten. “Maybe she had an owner before, and decided she rather wanted to be free. Oh sweet one, I understand, I did the same, set out to find what pleases me and look what I found.” Jaskier smiles and looks up to Geralt.

He only hums in response and smiles back warmly, Jaskier knows he doesn’t always have the words to such declarations in return.

When Geralt hears Roach approaching them carefully, he walks towards her. He rummages around the saddlebags and finds the salve he always uses for Roach's injuries and kneels down at the horse’s back, so it won’t kick him should it startle when he touches the wound.

Roach has walked around to where Jaskier is sitting at the mare’s head and looks curiously over his shoulder at the other horse, nickering softly.

“Look, this is Roach, she says hello, I guess. Though you, of course, can understand her much better, being also a horse,” Jaskier rambles and Geralt uses the horse’s distraction to quickly apply the salve. 

The sudden pain makes the wounded horse whinny, she kicks her legs and needs a few attempts to stand up. When she manages, she doesn’t back away though, just looks curiously at Roach, who approaches her slowly. 

Jaskier and Geralt, who’d both jumped back, watch from a distance how the two horses interact peacefully.

“Okay,” Jaskier says slowly, dragging out the vowels. “So what’s that mean?”

“Means Roach found a friend,” Geralt chuckles. 

“ _Oh_! Oh Geralt, I wish she'd like to accompany us,” Jaskier exclaims excitedly, still looking at the two horses getting to know each other. “But we don't know if she has a foal in the herd,” he points out.

“She won't come with us if she has one. Doesn't look like she has milk, though. Herd has run off, and she’s not even looking for them.”

“I didn’t see another white one among them, maybe she just came to help them like we did. But she's wounded, you think we can make it into the city? I don't need to be back before tomorrow afternoon, but my lectures be damned if it means she wants to be with us.”

As if prompted, the white mare walks towards Jaskier, bumps her head into his chest playfully. Reaching out, Jaskier pats her cheek, lets his hand linger, a look of astonished happiness on his face.

“Looks like she can walk just fine, it's not that far. We can walk a bit and make camp if she gets too tired, continue tomorrow,” says Geralt.

“Alright then. Come on, my free little family, let's go,” Jaskier says triumphantly and starts walking back to the road.

Geralt, momentarily distracted by Jaskier's words, nearly stumbles as he hurries after him. He takes Jaskier's hand when he falls into step beside him.

The sound of four pairs of hoofs follows them as they descend the hillside and walk towards new adventures in good company.

**Author's Note:**

> The ballad Jaskier sings to Chireadan is "Elaine Ettariel" which is mentioned in the book "Time of Contempt".
> 
> Kudos and comments are more than welcome, let's connect and spread positivity during these difficult times!


End file.
